The Marauders Live On
by Wonder46
Summary: Sirius Black's daughter had been living in Azkaban with him until she was sent to Hogwarts in her 3rd year. Now that her father has escaped, she must figure out what happened on the night of the Dark Lord's downfall to prove his innocence. Set in PoA.


Pixel Black walked briskly down the halls of the unfamiliar Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was late for her first sorting. Relief washed over her as she heard vague, distinct cheers coming from a room behind a large set of stain-glass doors that happened to be in front of her. Opening one a crack, she silently cursed the rusty hinges on it as the most horrible screeching sound replaced the nervousness in her mind.

All eyes in the banquet room turned to her, and it fell abruptly silent, the only sound being the shifting of hundreds of students as they whipped around to stare at her. _Holy crap, this is more awkward than Azkaban,_ she thought, having spent most of her life there, though not as a prisoner. She felt a familiar shade of pink creep up across her pale cheeks. She could tell the houses apart right away, judging by the stories her father had told her before she came to Hogwarts while she was living with him in Azkaban.

The red and gold table, the Gryffindors, filled with brave, earnest faces, the blue and gold table, the Ravenclaws, filled with sharp, witty faces, the basically yellow table, the Hufflepuffs, their faces almost expressionless as they waited for her to contemplate her next move. And then there was the green and black table, the Slytherins. They stared at her more intensely than the others, almost like they knew whom she was, where she was from. Almost like they had met her before. Her father had, though, always said that all Slytherins _should_ be, or will end up at one point, in Azkaban.

Although, a few students at the Gryffindor table seemed to know her a little bit. In fact, she thought that she recognized one of them, too. A third-year black-haired boy with a characteristic that tugged a forgotten memory in the back of her mind. A lightning scar, right on his forehead.

An old-looking wizard with a long white, filmy, wispy beard and ancient features broke the silence. "Pixel," He said, his voice calm and steady, "Won't you come up and introduce yourself?" She could tell he was trying to be kind, but just the thought of standing in front of all those people, only to tell them how different she really was, seemed absolutely humiliating. Her main mystery, though, was who this man was. She pulled out the sheet of paper that Hobbs, a Dementor friend of hers from back home, had given her before she left, listing pictures of all of the current faculty and their names.

"Dumbledore…." She said to herself, letting it come out in a barely audible whisper, before saying it louder, almost as a question. "Dumbledore?" The wizard, Dumbledore, beamed at her, nodded, and pointed to a big pin on his lavish green robes that read "HEADMASTER" in giant gold letters. She then noticed that everyone was wearing robes... except for her. This was just like Hobbs to forget _clothing_. All _he_ had to wear was a really baggy cloak, and he didn't even have to change. Ever.

Looking down, she suddenly found a new interest in her combat boots and quickly walked up to a big podium. She started to say what she really thought summed her up. "Um, my name's Pixel Black, and, uh, I'm a third year, but I, uh, just transferred this year, because I got some, er, _other_ training from where I'm from…." Her voice trailed off, as she was unsure of what to say next. "Are you Sirius Black's daughter?" Someone yelled. She nodded hesitantly. Gasps echoed across the room, followed by nervous conversations.

"Where are you from?" A Hufflepuff prodded loudly, silencing the room. "Uh," She wasn't really sure how to answer that question, "I was, um, originally born in Godric's Hallow, but then I moved to…" She was unable to finish. She remembered when she had overheard the Dementors talking about how quick wizards and witches were to judge people. She wasn't just going to go about telling them that she had spent almost her entire life in Azkaban.

A man with black hair that was moderately long and deep-set, obsidian eyes saved her the embarrassment by shoving an old, ratty witch hat onto her head, the head that was adorned with curly, but not frizzy, raven-black hair that hung in ringlets, falling just long of her shoulders. It was choppy and unevenly cut, but naturally nice-looking anyway. She had moderately straight bangs that swept to one side, so long that they were almost covering one of her stormy, glittering emerald eyes with tiny specks of icy amber around her pupil, that were framed by long, dark eyelashes. She closed them tightly as the sorting hat began to speak to her; it's ancient voice echoing inside her head.

"You know, you don't belong in any other house than…" The hat trailed off. "Wait. Never mind, that'd be awful. Definitely would NOT be a good ending result for you. Your father would probably set me on fire." Hatred boiled inside of her. _No one_ was going to talk about her father like that, like he had to morals, no conscience. The hat flinched on top of her head. Some of the innocent prisoners back home, the ones that were convicted of something they didn't do, used to tell her that she could probably silence even Voldemort with her death glare, with her anger.

"Didn't mean to offend you, honey." The hat said quickly. "I placed your father in Gryffindor myself. He's innocent." At the last part, the hat sounded kind of… Proud. "Thank you." She thought back. She smiled inwardly, careful to hide it from the hat. She'd had LOTS of training on hiding things from people, or objects, for that matter, that could read her mind. She had lived in a building _crawling_ with Dementors for the past twelve and a half years! "GRYFFINDOR!" The hat bellowed. Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor table, louder than she could've imagined. The rest of the tables actually looked kind of disappointed not to have an extra member, but relieved at the same time because of who that extra member would've been.

Pixel drew in a shaky breath of relief and fingered the plain silver chain that hung from her neck. She had gotten it as a baby from James and Lily Potter, as a protection necklace that would wrap a force-field around her when she asked it to. She didn't believe it would work, for she had never tried it. "Dad." She whispered to herself as she made her way to the cheering Gryffindors. "I'm halfway there."


End file.
